Inhale - Exhale - And Keep Going
by Wahrsagehund
Summary: In the dead of night Alec Hardy finds Ellie Miller in front of his door. Again. Set after 1x08.


**INHALE – EXHALE – AND KEEP GOING**

Alec Hardy, Ellie Miller

**Genre**: Friendship (with shippy undertones?)  
><strong>Word count:<strong> ~ 1000  
><strong>Set after:<strong> s01 ep 8

It's the dead of night and he's somewhere in the state between half-consciousness and sleep. He doesn't get to sleep – really sleep – these days. It must be a lot worse for her…but there's no point going there. He knows from experience that sympathy and wondering only gets you that far.

The knock is faint and he barely hears it against the rain tapping on the window. He doesn't need to wonder who and why. It's not the first time and, if he's completely honest with himself, he's probably even been waiting for it.

Miller, no Ellie stands in front of the door. She looks like hell. Her hair is tousled – probably from shifting around on the bed in a heartless attempt to find sleep. She's completely silent as she slips past him – just like the night before and the night before that. And what is there to say?

Tonight, though, she doesn't quite make it to the chair in the corner but sits down on the floor against the bed instead. For a moment, he hesitates. Normally he'd sit down on the bed, facing her, sitting on the chair. Now, it doesn't quite feel right to be on a higher level. For god's sake, he really doesn't have the moral high ground here and even if she's far from paying attention to questions of etiquette, it nevertheless feels wrong somehow. He sits down, against the wall to the bathroom instead, at a safe distance.

She hugs her knees to her chest in a way that makes his heart ache. In a different place, on a different day, maybe even in a different universe it might have crossed his mind that she's the picture book example of vulnerability – her body language would match the exact description found in any therapy handbook. But there is absolutely nothing ordinary about this fucked up situation. This woman, who has so much love to give, who is a believer in the good of people, is so utterly broken and there is nothing anyone can do to change that. It's been 4 days since Joe confessed. Four bloody days of unthinkable hell.

She hides her face in her knees but he can hear the quiet sobs. He averts his eyes in a failing attempt to give her privacy – and ends up studying the minute hair on his toes. Just briefly, he wonders whether she expects him to say anything. God knows, he's not exactly known for his talent to find appropriate words. But then again, they are not exactly close either and she's still sitting in his room at 2.30 in the morning. He tries to go back to his darkest hours – right after he had found out, realized and understood that everything was a mess and there was no way out of – but it hardly applies here. Cheating just doesn't compare to murdering a child.

He's been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly misses the gaping silence left by the sudden stop of her sobbing. He dares to glance at her. There's a faint flicker of determination on her face and an odd look of concentration, as if she was trying hard to work out the answer to a difficult math problem.

When she suddenly speaks, her voice is hoarse and mumbled against her knees.

"How do I do it? How do I stop loving him?"

His mouth is suddenly unbearably dry and he swallows. She doesn't say more but the implications are clear. "How did you do it? How did you stop loving your wife when she ruined your family and your career and let a guilty man get away with murder?"

He looks at her and she meets his eyes for the fraction of a second. Her pain is so overwhelming, it breaks through the protective shell of rudeness and cynicism he has so carefully erected around himself.

"I know I'm not supposed to. But I can't help it. I just can't….how do I do it? How do I stop loving that sick bastard, that fucking child killer?"

"Miller…," he sighs. "Ellie."

She snorts and sobs at the same time, which produces an odd sound. So odd, in fact, that her mouth creases into an involuntary smile. "How fucking hard can it be to get my bloody name right?"

Her exasperation, if a mere shadow of her usual standard, is so familiar that he can't help but feel relieved. There's still some trace of the old Miller…Ellie in there.

It must have shown on his face because she shoots him an odd look. It stings a little that she seems so perplexed by the smallest possible act of kindness. But really it's not surprising, given the circumstances of their nightly get together. He realizes that she's still waiting for an answer the same moment when she seems to have made up her mind that he won't give her one.

His mind, still busy with trying to find the right words, is startled by the sudden movements of her getting up. Her body seems to tower over him for a second before he decides to get up – too quickly, of course and his heart is thumping like mad. She's passed him before he has quite risen to his full height and is out of the door before he can react.

She halts for a moment, as if trying to make up her mind to apologise, once again, as she has done yesterday and the night before that. He seizes his chance.

"You don't." His voice with its rasping sound, is pathetic. He tries to clear his throat but stops mid-way. "You can't."

Her back is turned to him so he can't see her face. He doesn't need to, anyways, her back seems to be expressing her confusion at his sudden outburst.

"You don't stop but you learn to live with it."

She seems frozen on the spot and he doesn't dare breathe. They remain like this, completely stationary, for a small eternity. Until his heart is racing like mad and his lungs demand oxygen with such urge that he is suddenly painfully aware of his body's existence. The same moment he gives in to the weakness that is his everyday opponent, she reaches for the door handle.

Without another sound, she disappears into the darkness.


End file.
